"Hello, Chef," I blurted out, as Chef Dylan burst into the room at the worst possible moment. Shelly turned beet red.
"Everyone who doesn't work here, get out of my kitchen." Chef Dylan grabbed one of his favorite knives and started sharpening it with quick, vicious movements. Shelly was gone before I had a chance to turn around.
"I'm sorry, Chef," I said, hurrying to my station. "We were just catching up before I started my shift."
"Don't apologize, just get to work." He glanced at me, then looked back down to his chopping. His expression was unreadable. At least he didn't look angry.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Most likely a mortified, apologetic text from Shelly. I had no idea how much Chef Dylan might have heard, but I certainly wasn't going to bring it up.
***
"Jillian, can I speak to you, please?"
Chef Dylan had popped out of his office just long enough to say this; a moment later, he'd disappeared again.
Shit, shit, shit.
This whole thing was turning into a comedy of errors. Getting a talking-to about the charity thing was bad enough, but now I was going to be held responsible for letting Shelly into the kitchen - not to mention the intensely embarrassing thing she'd chosen to say as soon as he walked into the room.
I took a deep breath, wiped my hands, and went into his office. He didn't look up until I sat down.
For a while, he just met my eyes without speaking. Why does always do this? Just to make me squirm? Because it's working.
In more ways than one.
His eyes could range from stormcloud-gray to a hard, glinting steel, but right now they were somewhere in-between. I didn't know what it meant, but my heart was fluttering and it wasn't just from nerves.
"You don't have to like me, Jillian," he said, finally. "All I need is for you to respect me."
"I do," I said, quickly. Too quickly. I could see that he didn't really believe me. But how could you not respect a man like that, at least a little? Ten Michelin stars. Bad attitude or no bad attitude, he was a force to be reckoned with.#p#分页标题#e#
"That's not what I meant," he said. "I don't want you to respect me as some kind of culinary legend. I want you to respect me as a person. As your boss."
My face was turning bright red, despite my best efforts to stay calm. What could I possibly say to convince him that I did, considering what he'd just walked into?
"Can I speak freely, Chef?"
His eyebrows raised a little. "I hope you always will," he said.
"I've never really believed that your method of dealing with people is the most effective," I said. "Or the most fair. I won't pretend that we agree on that issue. But when it comes to you as a businessman, and as a chef - I couldn't possibly have more respect for you. And I'm willing to learn more about why you do the things you do, especially the things I don't understand."
A slow smile crept across his face.
"You're something else," he said. "You know that?"
I couldn't help but smile back. My heart flip-flopped in my chest. "I don't know what that means," I said. "But, thank you."
"You've really mastered the art of being both honest and diplomatic," he said. "You know, when most people say something like 'I disagree with you, but I respect your opinion' I know they're completely full of shit. But you're not like that, are you? You really do want to learn why I do what I do."
"Well, yes," I said, my face flushing. "Is that...weird?"
"It's wonderful," he said. "But it is...unusual, yes."
If only he knew how strong my opinions of him really were. But I was being honest about learning his methods. I was curious, even if I could never be like that myself. I could certainly stand to be tougher from time to time. Growing up, I'd mastered the art of diplomacy to try and keep the peace between my parents. It never worked out, but the skills had carried me pretty well through my adult life.
"I have a feeling we're going to get along just fine, you and I," Chef Dylan said. "Bumps in the road notwithstanding."
I wished I could share his confidence. But still, I smiled, and there was a warm glow in my chest.
"Thank you," I said. "I hope so too."
I cleared my throat, considering this for a moment. I'd been meaning to say something earlier. Nobody called me "Jillian" unless they didn't know me. It felt very, very strange for him to keep calling me by that name.
"Chef?"
He looked back up at me.
"Would you..." I cleared my throat again. "Most people just call me Jill."
"Of course," he said. "See you tomorrow, Jill."